James Thomson (B.V.) - The City of Dreadful Night

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And all sad scenes and thoughts and feelings vanish
In that sweet sleep no power can ever banish,
That one best sleep which never wakes again.

James Thomson
The mighty river flowing dark and deep,
With ebb and flood from the remote sea-tides,
Vague-sounding through the City's sleepless sleep,
Is named the River of the Suicides.

James Thomson
As I came through the desert thus it was,
As I came through the desert: All was black,
In heaven no single star, on earth no track;
A brooding hush without a stir or note;
The air so thick it clotted in my throat.

James Thomson
Yet I strode on austere;
No hope could have no fear.

James Thomson
The street-lamps burn amidst the baleful glooms,
Amidst the soundless solitudes immense
Of ranged mansions dark and still as tombs.

James Thomson
I find no hint throughout the Universe Of good or ill, of blessing or of curse; I find alone Necessity Supreme.

James Thomson
The City is of Night, but not of Sleep;
There sweet sleep is not for the weary brain;
The pitiless hours like years and ages creep,
A night seems termless hell.

James Thomson
The world rolls round for ever like a mill;
It grinds out death and life and good and ill;
It has no purpose, heart or mind or will.

James Thomson
For life is but a dream whose shapes return,
Some frequently, some seldom, some by night
And some by day.

James Thomson
The City is of Night; perchance of Death,
But certainly of Night; for never there
Can come the lucid morning's fragrant breath
After the dewy dawning's cold grey air.

James Thomson
Yet why evoke the spectres of black night
To blot the sunshine of exultant years?

James Thomson